So
by Requisite
Summary: It was the voices. There was no other explanation as to why he had come to such an appalling, sick, sick, sick revelation. It was the voices, and they needed to die.


Characters and plot belong to their rightful owners.

**So**

"So." Allen said calmly after he had entered the large cafeteria and walked over to his table like it was an everyday occurrence.

Kanda was just a little creeped out by the boy's lackadaisical attitude, but refused to scoot over the remaining two inches on the bench and risk exposing his anxiousness at Allen's blasé attitude. It was freakin' creepy!

Kanda wouldn't be surprised if the boy just went ballistic and started murdering people. He _was _kind of menacing. For a bean sprout.

Bastard.

Unfortunately for him, though, Kanda was the nearest person, and ultimately the first one to go down if the boy did snap. A bead of perspiration trickled past his temple as he eyed the boy, and his leg twitched to slide that comforting two inches, even if that meant showing weakness to the kid.

"So," Allen repeated, staring at the tabletop, unblinking. "I-" he started, and then stopped.

The voices in his head were being devious again – sprouting all kinds of crazy ideas about what the white-haired (hah, _old_) kid might say next. Kanda promptly told the voices to shut up and slipped a hand down to Mugen's hilt, the action partly for comfort and partly so that he would be ready when Allen attacked him with the intention of eating his brains.

Kanda briefly wondered if brains tasted good.

"I-" Allen said again, snapping him out of his thoughts, and Kanda idly noted that the kid needed to stop repeating himself. Stuttering was freaking annoying, didn't the kid know? "I had a dream."

A dream. A _dream. _If he had been the kind of person to laugh at that sort of thing, he would have. The bean sprout couldn't be pretending he was a clairvoyant – he had no sense of direction without General Cross's golem, and the thought of him _preordaining_ things was just... well, wrong.

After all, look at the mess he had gotten himself into with a missing master, fucked left arm and creepy-ass curse, not to mention dead foster-father who wanted Allen to take his place as The Fourteenth, not to mention Noah. Yeah. Right. _Clairvoyant,_ he snorted, relaxing his grip on Mugen somewhat and picking up his chopsticks again – ambidextrousness was good for certain things in life. Apparently holding a sword an eating at the same time was one of those things.

"So?" Kanda asked rudely, annoyed with the fact that he had been interrupted from his soba (it was _soba_, dammit!) for something as stupid as a dream. "Why are you telling me and not the stupid rabbit?"

Allen blinked wide, owlish eyes (God, he looked like one retarded owl) up at him innocently. Kanda knew better than that, though – Allen wasn't innocent. Allen was a bean sprout, and bean sprouts _were not innocent._ Not when they deliberately went looking fights with him.

"Because." He said petulantly, rolling his eyes huffily when Kanda just grunted disinterestedly and shovelled his mouth full of noodles.

It was _soba_, dammit.

Allen muttered something too lowly for him to hear and he gnashed the noodles angrily between his teeth, wondering _why_ he was still here, and, more importantly, _why_ Kanda was letting him.

"I can't hear _bean sprouts_ unless they speak up, bean sprout." Kanda growled, satisfying in the way Allen's eyes sparked at him. Kanda glared back happily.

Was that even possible? To glare happily? That was a... a-a what was it? Contradiction? Yeah – that was the word he was looking for, though the irritation quickly set in after he realized that the word had come to him in Lavi's voice.

There must have been something really fucked up with his head if Lavi's voice was being replicated in it. God, next he was going to be dreaming about Allen. _Ew,_ he shuddered.

"What?" He asked, realizing that he hadn't heard a word that Allen had said and then realizing that he really didn't care. Still, he'd asked, damn his mouth for being faster than his brain.

Allen glared at him testily before, apparently, repeating what he'd said. "I _said_ because it was about you. Well, more specifically, about your sword. I had a dream about your sword."

Kanda, who had stuffed another mouthful of soba into his face, choked loudly at that, spewing half-chewed noodles all over the table. He grimaced disgustedly, dropping his chopsticks and pushing his tray away.

"You _what?!_"

Allen, who was sneering (_sneering!_) disgustedly at the bits and pieces of half-chewed buckwheat discharge, didn't answer.

Kanda glared at him.

Allen glared back.

For such a big scene, nobody was paying attention to them.

"You dreamed about Mugen – you dreamed about _my sword_." He quoted after a tense minute, eying the boy distastefully and protectively tightening his hold on Mugen's hilt.

"Yep."

The 'p' popped. Kanda growled.

"_Why?_"

Allen looked at him weirdly for a moment, replying slowly, enunciating the words as though Kanda were mentally retarded. "I don't know why, Kanda." He sighed loudly – as though talking to him was taxing; _hah_ – and continued, "It's not like I wanted to! I just did. Believe me, I'm much more creeped out and disgusted by this than you are."

"You callin' Mugen ugly?" Kanda asked sharply, narrowing his eyes at Allen, who made a very exasperated sound.

"God, you're such a girl!'

"At least I'm not a bean sprout!" Kanda retorted haughtily.

"Agh! You're so... you're so-at least I don't _overcompensate _for certain things!"

"_I am not a girl!_"

"Oh, yeah? You could have fooled me!"

"I could beat you in size _any _day!" He practically shouted, and then remembered where they were. A pink tinge rose to his cheeks, though he refused to back down.

Kanda half expected Allen to come up with some silly retort about how he beat Kanda when he was five or make some crude remark upon his nationality and how "Asians are always smaller", but was surprised to find the boy looking somewhat traumatized.

God, the kid was only fifteen. Ugh. That was wrong on so many levels.

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind." Allen said, startling him from his thoughts.

Kanda watched as the platinum-haired exorcist lowered himself back to the bench, and briefly wondered when they had stood up in the first place. Probably somewhere between the first insult and the second. Since Allen sitting with him in the first place was practically an insult to him, that was a lot of leeway.

Lenalee would probably scold him if she found out about this. Damn. It was all Allen's fault!

"So," he said, feeling a sense of déjà vu rise up in the back of his mind. It was probably those damn voices again. He'd need to bleach his brain. "You dreamed about my _sword_, huh?"

"Yeah." Allen said again, looking afraid on his side of the bench – Kanda was very pleased to note the boy had scooted over to the other side once he had sat down again.

Kanda smirked vindictively at his table-mate as the implication hit him. "Which one?"

Allen, the poor kid, looked confused for a second, before realization hit him, and he blushed scarlet.

"_Not that one!_" He practically screeched, practically tripping over himself as he scrambled to his feet. "I-I-you pervert, you lecher! You girly man!"

"You dreamed about my _sword_." He emphasized, amusing himself in the fact that he now had an effective Allen-repellent and the fact that he looked queasy. He wondered if that was due to all that blood in his head.

"_Lenalee!_" Allen wailed, running out of the cafeteria.

It didn't matter that the thought disgusted him and that the bean sprout probably hadn't even thought of it like _that _(Kanda would stab himself with Mugen before he even started to go down that path)....

Allen had dreamt of _his sword._

_(Cocky sword – _har, har, hah_ – innuendos. They had to be done at one point or another. I'm just an uber pervert for thinking of this first? Second? ...Now. Did you know? There are virtually no synonyms for the word 'noodle', pertaining to the definition 'long wheaty thing you eat', a.k.a., pasta. – Requisite)_


End file.
